


Giving and Receiving: A Bluefrost Timestamp

by TheIttyBitty



Series: Beyond the Bluefrosts [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Bottom Castiel, Caring Castiel, Emotional Sex, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff and Smut, Kink Exploration, M/M, Married Sex, Poetry, Reading Aloud, Top Dean, Wing Kink, mild spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIttyBitty/pseuds/TheIttyBitty
Summary: A bout of the flu, a new book of poetry, and a switch.





	Giving and Receiving: A Bluefrost Timestamp

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC**  
>  \- a very small fight (argument) that's quickly resolved  
> \- biting (sexual)  
> \- a small amount of spanking (sexual)  
> \- a discussion in which homophobia and shame are brought up, not in much detail

Back home, in the flatlands, the heat had been ever present. A sweltering god presiding over subservient peoples. Snow was non-existent, the cold a very rare, very mild occurrence. Dean spent eighteen years sweating, growing tan and muscled in the heat, building himself a molten core.

Now he's gone from one extreme to another, from the heat to the cold. It hasn't been an easy transition.

 

Dean sneezes, once, and then three more times in rapid succession. He sniffs pitifully and tries to ignore the pounding in his head.

When he looks up from his papers, he finds Castiel frowning at him.

“You're ill.” Castiel accuses.

“'m not ill.” Dean insists, “I'm just tired.”

Castiel gives him a disbelieving look. “Dean, you're ill, and denying it won't help. Have you taken anything for it?”

Dean sighs, resigning himself to being badgered into taking care of himself. “No.”

“Come on,” Castiel says, pulling him to his feet, “You need medicine, good food, and rest.”

Dean tries to protest as Castiel leads him back toward his room, “I only sneezed, don't be redicu-” But then he starts to cough, and he can't stop, and it _hurts._ It scrapes his throat raw and rattles his chest.

Castiel rubs his back gently, leading him into into his rooms and then back into the bedroom.

“We'll fix you up,” He assures Dean, helping his husband out of his clothes, “Don't you worry about a thing.”

He tucks Dean into bed, pulling the blankets up around him and brushing his damp hair out of his face. “Lay still, darling, I’m going to get Doctor Moseley.”

Doctor Moseley is an aging angel with dark blue wings shot with silver, Dean has never had need of her services before, but he can tell by the look of hero-worship on Castiel's face that she must be good. She's efficient, she takes Dean's temperature, feels the glands on his neck, and has him open his mouth so she can look inside.

“Common flu.” Is her diagnosis, she slaps a vial of blue liquid into Castiel's palm, “Have him take a teaspoon of this every four hours. I'd also recommend bed-rest and maybe some hot soup.”

“Of course,” Castiel nods like he's just been given life or death instructions, “I'll fetch some immediately.”

Of course, he does. He brings an entire pot of steaming hot chicken soup up to his room, with a bowl and a spoon, a loaf of soft bread, and a pot of mint tea. He sits on the edge of the bed and fusses with the meal until Dean agrees to sit up and eat.

“I can feed myself,” Dean says, once he's propped up and sees Castiel blowing gently on a spoonful of soup.

Castiel frowns, his wings ruffling in frustration. “You need rest.” He insists, “Let me take care of you.”

“I'm not _dying_. I have the flue. I can feed myself, and I could be doing paperwork if you'd bring it.”

“Absolutely not.” Castiel says firmly, “Paperwork is not _rest_.”

Hot, angry frustration claws at the base of Dean's throat and, before he can calm himself, it spills out. He knocks away the spoonful of soup Castiel is holding toward him, spilling it across the bed.

“I'm not a child!” He snaps, “I'm an adult, and a king! I won't be coddled like a doll because you think I’m incapable of doing anything for myself, Castiel!”

Silence, heavy and loud, lays in a blanket over the room. Castiel's eyes are wide, and his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Slowly, he puts the bowl of soup on the side table.

“I'm... sorry you feel that way.” He takes a breath, “I need a moment.” He stands, quickly, and leaves the room.

Dean has several long minutes to stew before he comes back, hesitant and apologetic.

“I apologize, Dean.” Castiel says, taking his spot on the edge of the bed, “I... I'm only trying to take care of you.”

Dean huffs, “I've been ill before, Castiel, it's not the end of the world. I don't need to be treated like a child. And I won't be ordered around.”

Castiel gives a small nod, staring down at his hands. “My apologies.”

“Don't sulk.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.” Dean reaches out to touch Castiel's chin, to meet his eyes, “I'm sorry I spilled the soup.”

“ _That_ was childish behavior.”

“I said I could feed myself and you ignored me.”

“I didn't ignore you,” Castiel argues, “I just... disagreed.”

“I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions, thank you.”

Castiel looks at him for several long moments before nodding again, “What do you- what can I do?”

“Make me some tea?”

Castiel pours him tea.

 

Castiel doesn't get sick, even though he tends to Dean and sleeps in the same bed. His immune system is hardened by endless winters and a hearty diet. He brings their paperwork into the bedroom and they do it together there, but at the first sign that Dean is tired, Castiel packs it all up and puts it away.

The one thing that Dean will tolerate, that he doesn't mind at all, really, is that Castiel reads to him. The man doesn't ever seem to get tired of reading aloud, and he'll do it for hour upon hour, reading fiction and history and romance with an unwavering voice. Dean enjoys it so much, in fact, that the tradition of Castiel reading aloud becomes something they do all the time.

Before bed, Castiel reads several chapters of their chosen book, Dean's head set comfortably in his lap. His voice is a soothing timbre that lulls Dean to sleep.

 

Dean is ready for bed. He's got his sleeping gown on, soft and warm, and he slides into bed to rest his head on Castiel's thigh. Castiel runs his fingers through Dean's hair and reaches over to the bedside table to pick up their book for the night. It's a different book than the one they were reading last night, Dean notices, but he doesn't think anything about it until his husband begins to read.

It starts off fairly innocuous, it's poetry instead of their usual novel, but that's alright. And then, Dean hears his name. He goes still, and listens as his husband recites poetry about green eyes, about soft lips, about breathy moans.

Dean flips over to look up at him, and finds Castiel looking down at him already, he looks calm but his wings are quivering with apprehension.

The book he's holding is plain, no title, with a soft green velvet cover. On the front is one small, embossed sun.

“You wrote that.” Dean says.

“I did.” Castiel agrees.

“It's about me.”

“It is.”

“Read me more?”

He does. He reads poem after poem, some about love, some about lust, some simply describing Dean's person. It's not inherently sexual, but as he listens to Castiel speak something grows in him. Fondness, yes, and affection. But there's something more even than that. Something heavy and deep that he can't name and he's never felt before. It grows until he can't help it anymore, he sits up, he takes the book from Castiel's hands and sets it on the nightstand, he kisses Castiel hard on the mouth.

“Mmph,” Says says Castiel, as Dean presses him down into the pillows.

Usually, it's the other way around. Not that Dean's isn't a willing, active, and enthusiastic participant in their sexual activities, it's just that he's not usually the one to initiate it, and he's never this aggressive. But there's just something about this whole situation that has him riled up and, going by the sounds his husband is making, Castiel doesn't seem to mind it at all.

He kisses and sucks at the soft skin of Castiel's throat as the man's hands roam up his thighs and ruck his nightdress up to his middle, and at Castiel's hand on his cock, he bites down on the column of his husband's neck.

“Oh!” Castiel gasps, hips bucking, hand squeezing tight around Dean's member.

“You like that?” Dean asks, genuinely curious. He wasn't aware that Castiel enjoyed biting, and wonders what else he might discover.

Castiel clears his throat and tries to control his shallow breathing, but it's much too late now and he seems to realize it. “I do.” He says, “I hope you don't think... less of me.”

Dean pulls back to look down at his face, to find that Castiel looks nervous. All the feathers on his wings are laying down flat, rustling very slightly.

“Why would I think less of you?”

“I'm afraid- you'll think I’m perverse.”

“I don't think you're perverse because you like it when I bite you.”

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief, and Dean leans back down to kiss his chest, his nipples. He loves the way they harden in his mouth as he suckles them, they bead beneath his tongue. On a whim, or maybe a hunch, he takes one between his teeth and gives it a small nip. He's rewarded with a grunt, with the upward jolt of his husband's hips once again.

“Darling?” He says, kissing down Castiel's ticklish ribs, “Do you like pain?”

Above, Castiel shakes his head furiously, “Of course not.” He insists.

“No?” Dean bites at his husband's soft thighs, watches as his cock drools eagerly, “Maybe just a little bit?”

Castiel closes his eyes and shakes his head, but Dean can see the blush on his cheeks.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of.” He feels strange saying it, as up to this point he has clearly been the less experienced party, but he wants to assure his husband that there's nothing wrong with this.

Castiel doesn't answer though, and Dean doesn't want to push him, so he instead occupies his mouth with his husband's balls, heavy and soft. He sucks one gently into his mouth and massages it with his tongue, then the other.

Castiel, seemingly gone shy at Dean's questioning, comes back to himself as Dean lowers his head over the man's dripping cockhead. He looks up to meet his husband's eye as he suckles, then swallows the rest of it whole.

“ _God_ ,” Castiel breathes, “Yes. Your mouth, oh heaven.”

Dean's eyelashes flutter as Castiel's cock hits the back of his throat, and he fights the urge to gag, but he's been practicing with various phallic vegetables and he manages to take him all the way to the root.

“Fuck,” Castiel hisses, unable to help himself from humping up into Dean's mouth, "You're so- _oh_ , you're so beautiful.” His fingers thread through Dean's hair, grasping, holding him still as he thrusts himself into Dean's mouth with increasing abandon. He's gasping for breath, ragged and uneven, and then he's stilling, coming down Dean's throat.

Even after Castiel has gone limp and languid beneath his ministrations, Dean sucks gently on his flaccid cock, enjoying the feel of him in his mouth. Castiel doesn't stop him, although he must be oversensitive by now, he says nothing, just scratches gently as Dean's scalp. As intimacies go, it's odd. There's something strange stirring in the air and Dean isn't sure what it is.

After a time, he slips his mouth off of Castiel's soft cock and slides up his body for a kiss, open mouthed and languid with satisfaction.

“Have you ever...” Dean starts to ask, wets his lips, “Have you ever _received_?”

“Received?”

“Yes, I mean, have you ever _taken_?”

Castiel stares at him for several long moments before he finally realizes what Dean is saying. “Oh, _oh_. No, I’ve never- I've only given.”

Dean looks down at him now, feeling whatever it is that's swirling around the room, deep and heavy and important, “Can I?” He asks, “Can I make love to you?”

Castiel takes in a breath, deep and sudden, like he hasn't been breathing. Stretched out beneath him on the bed, his wings tremble.

“Yes.” He says, very softly.

This reversal, Castiel nervous and vulnerable, has Dean reeling, but he recognizes that Castiel is letting him in in a new and important way. He's letting himself be seen in a completely different, and the significance isn't lost on Dean.

Per his own request, Castiel is on his stomach. A large round pillow is set under his hips, so that his rear is at a good height. Another pillow lies under Castiel's head, where his hands are tucked beneath it. His wings are splayed out to either side, a puffed up, quivering mess before Dean has even done anything.

The first touch of Dean's slicked finger to his entrance has Castiel stiffening, and Dean takes a moment run a soothing hand over his back, over the bottom of his wings. He doesn't expect, when he works his fingers into the feathers, for Castiel to go boneless. It's not something Dean had thought of, and now he takes advantage of it, stroking and massaging Castiel's wing as he works a finger into him. He's surprised to see that Castiel has gone hard again as well, and he runs his knuckles along the underside of his leaky cock. On the trail of a thought, Dean gives the thick meat of his husband's ass a soft smack, and is delighted to see his cock jump excitedly. Castiel says nothing, but buries his face in his pillow, there's no hiding his red ears though, or his soft groan when Dean smacks the other cheek, a little harder this time.

Sexuality, Dean thinks, is a fascinating and complicated subject. It can be daunting, even frightening, but figuring out what a partner likes is an incredibly satisfying experience. He understands the stigma that comes with liking certain things, but he thinks, personally, that as long as it's not harming anyone it should be fine. To say that a man shouldn't spank his husband on the behind, if they're both interested in it, seems endlessly silly to him.

That is to say, he does it again. Not too hard, he doesn't want to _really_ hurt Castiel, only enough to sting a little. He's rewarded with blushes, moans, a cock leaking like a faucet, and Castiel's hole quivering around his fingers.

Of course, he's quick to sooth the sting with open-mouthed kisses on his husband's reddened cheeks and a soothing hand over the burning skin.

Castiel is uncharacteristically quiet, but when he's finally stretched enough and Dean presses his cock into his warmth, Castiel wails.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks hurriedly, petting soothingly over his feathers.

“Yes!” Castiel responds, “Yes, please! I want- I want you. I need you.”

So Dean slides in, slowly, working himself in and out in small circles. One hand is on Castiel's hip, the other kneeds at the meat of his wing. When he's fully seated, he leans over to kiss the back of Castiel's neck, to run his teeth along the nob at the top of his spine.

“Okay?” He asks again.

“Yes,” Castiel sighs, sounding somewhat calmer than before.

“What do you need?”

“You.” He says.

Dean kisses his neck once more before sitting up, pulling a little ways out, and burying his hands in the black feathers of his husband's wings. He gives them a small tug, and Castiel makes a choking noise and pushes himself suddenly back onto Dean's cock.

“How's that?” Dean wonders, once he's caught his breath.

“Do it again!” Castiel demands, “Please, _oh_.”

Never has Dean been more willing to pull on his husband's feathers, to smack his cheeks until they're red, to pound into him hard and fast until he's yowling and coming onto the pillow.

Dean comes soon after, spurred by the sight of his husband losing every shred of control, and he pulls out and flops down next to Castiel with a blissful smile on his face.

It's gone in a breath, though, when he notices that Castiel's cheeks are wet with tears.

“No,” He says, sitting quickly up and putting a hand on Castiel's head, “What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Darling, speak to me?”

Castiel shakes his head finally, reaching back behind himself to run his fingers through the semen on his thighs. “I'm alright,” He says, sniffling, “It was amazing.”

“Why are you crying?” Dean wonders, carding his fingers through Castiel's dark locks.

Castiel sighs, reaches beneath him to slide the pillow out from beneath his hips and toss it off of the bed. He curls up then, and rests his head on Dean's thigh, despite the current state of his cock.

“I'm sorry.” He says, “I'm- I’m emotional.”

“That's alright.” Dean assures him, “I know you're emotional.”

“I...” Castiel hesitates, fingers curling nervously under his chin, “When I was young, my father... he didn't approve of my- my lifestyle.”

“Your lifestyle?”

“The fact that I like men. He wasn't fond of the idea, and much of my family was with him on that. It never stopped me, obviously, but I suppose... I suppose it made me feel guilty. And I- I did things that, while I may not have liked, made me feel a little less guilty.”

“Like what?” Dean asks, gently.

“Well, I’ve always given, never received. Although I’ve always wanted to, I think... I think it made me feel like maybe he'd forgive me, if I was always on the giving end.”

“That's nonsense.” Dean says fiercely, “You're doing nothing wrong.”

“I know. I know. But... there's just that feeling, when I let myself give in to- to less conventional pleasures, that he might be ashamed of me, if he knew.”

“There's nothing wrong with what you like.” Dean says again.

Castiel nods, wiping tears from beneath his eyes. “I suppose I know that, but it's difficult sometimes. I'm sorry, for getting emotional.”

“I love you.” Dean tells him, “You can be as emotional as you need.”

Castiel sighs, “Not out there.” He looks at the door, “Not in front of the people. God, I was so lonely before you came.”

This sudden digression gives Dean pause for a moment before he continues his ministrations on Castiel's hair. “Were you?”

Castiel nuzzles into Dean's thigh with his nose, “I was. I live in a city full of people, and yet I had no one to talk with. Not really.”

“Well,” Says Dean, “Now you do.”

“Now I do.” Castiel says, sounding pleased. He levers himself up onto an elbow and tips his face for a kiss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -Even in super progressive fantasy worlds you're gonna get some bigots :(  
> -Cas has a mild pain kink (not a lot, just a little), and is ashamed of it, poor baby.
> 
>  
> 
> thank you guys so much for reading this and commenting, i love you guys!  
> if you want, come talk to me on [tumblr](https://deanlightful.tumblr.com/), i'm shy but very friendly!


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